


a burden he adores

by thefudge



Category: Black Panther (2018), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, F/M, Infinity War spoilers, Repressed Feelings, Shuri is 18/19 in infinity war, Yearning, slowburn, soundtrack: something i can never have by nine inch nails and bird of prey by the editors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Takes place during IW, so beware of spoilers. Essentially, a moment between Shuri and Bucky, on the eve of battle.





	a burden he adores

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN. i am making IW a shuri/bucky movie, try and stop me.
> 
> (oh, and the only actual spoiler is at the very end)

He flexes the fingers gently. They’re not quite his yet.

He knows nothing could possibly crack the sheath. It’ll never even get a scratch. It’s solid, sleek, impervious vibranium. And still, he carries the arm with quiet, disbelieving deference.

“It looks good.”

Bucky tenses for a moment before her voice registers - that familiar, songbird cadence.

He turns and looks almost abashed for a moment. Like she’s caught him doing something unseemly. He lowers the arm, but the setting sun catches the fine golden inlays and she has to squint to really look at him.

“I…uh, thank you,” he mumbles, staring at the floor, even though she’s told him to quit doing that. Quit _thanking_ her so much. She’s not running a charity shop, after all.

“I mean,” he adds as she’s about to protest, “it was your design.”

“Yes…gold suits you, I think,” she muses, cocking her head to the side. She’s measuring him up in that way he finds completely unnerving.  It’s not the clinical survey of HYDRA scientists who only wanted to increase his lethal potential. It’s not the pitying, mournful look that Steve would sometimes bestow.

Shuri doesn’t see him as damaged goods. She sees “potential”; she sees “the future”.  That’s what she used to tell him as they sat down by the lake and threw stones into the murky depths together. She was a terrible throw. He had to teach her how to hold her fingers, how to swing properly, with her whole body. Touching her was terrifying and comforting, at the same time. Her laughter was like rain – it soaked you whether you wanted or not. He couldn’t keep a straight face, even when he felt immense sadness. Later, he caught her throwing stones all by herself and she was pretty good. He did not know if she had pretended to be lousy for his sake but…he didn’t hold it against her. These days, he’s shamefully looking for any excuse to hold her hand.

He always stops when he remembers exactly who he is and who _she_ is. She saved him because that brilliant mind of hers has a blind spot – generosity. But he can’t fool himself. He’s a wretched, old creature and she is a young planet.

“May I touch it?” she asks as she steps closer to him.

He wants to say, _of course you can, it’s **yours**._ But this would hurt her deeply. She doesn’t want him to think she owns any part of him.

But she does.

Her eyes brighten as she runs her fingers across the smooth, living metal.

Bucky has to contain a shudder, has to look to the window.

She’s too close. Inhaling her is dangerous.

“Might sound childish, but I hope you don’t have to use the arm too much in battle,” she tells him, rapping her knuckles against his metal wrist.

His troubled eyes meet hers.

“If they come here,” and by here he means his new home, his _only_ home, “I’ll put it to good use.”

Shuri balks a little. “I didn’t make it with that in mind… I don’t want it to be used for killing. I don’t want you to feel that you have to–”

 The metal fingers wrap around her hand almost instinctively. Perhaps he’s possessing them after all.

“Shuri.” Her name sounds like a promise he can’t quite keep. “I’ll feel just fine killing anyone who tries to hurt you.”

He meant to say you _and_ Wakanda, but his priorities have always been human. He is no hero, not even a martyr. Just a man with a desperate need to see her smile another day.

Shuri disentangles herself from him, her cheeks a little flushed. Everyone in the palace calls him her unofficial bodyguard, but they’d raise their eyebrows to hear him say _that_.

“Nobody will hurt me,” she says, smoothing down her skirt. “I can take pretty good care of myself, you know.”

Half of his mouth curls. “I know.”

“I’m more concerned about you…taking on big fat aliens or whatever else the universe throws on our doorstep.” She bites her lip. “You have to promise to stay alive, all right?”

Her concern, etched so plainly into every line of her face, makes him bite his tongue.

The fact that she cares about him is still unexpected. He never thought she would return even half his feelings. Her small attentions used to be a creature comfort, like knowing there's a god above looking out for him. But now, her worried gaze is a burden he adores. 

He wants to keep all his promises to her, wants to never disappoint her, never make her doubt. But he’s fallible in the exact way she disapproves. He will tear every piece of himself, until there is no replacement, if it means he’ll keep Thanos away from her.

But he cannot say these things. He’s already betrayed himself in so many ways.

“I promise.”

Shuri tucks a wayward lock behind his ear. “Also, you need a haircut.”

They both chuckle, stashing away their emotions.

Despite her best efforts, his hair still falls into his face and he wants nothing more than to feel her fingers again, let them take root against his scalp.

There was one night in his hut when the kids braided his hair too tight and he couldn’t let it loose and Shuri had to slowly unravel each lock for him and he suppressed a moan because he wanted so _badly_ to feel her skin against his lips.

These desires never go away, no matter how carefully hidden.

He feels like he’s exchanged one monstrosity for another. He used to be cold with violence. Now he is warm with yearning.

“I should…” he trails off. So many _should’s_. So many rules. He hasn’t got used to sleeping in the palace. He misses sitting in his small hut with her. Misses the infinite proximity. The bridge that could not be crossed, but was there all the same, just a breath away.

“Me too,” she echoes, as if understanding. As if missing it too. 

They stand together a moment longer, staring into each other’s eyes as the hallway grows dimmer with light, as the golden inlays of his arm glimmer softly and seem to kiss her lips.

 

 

(as he turns to brown ash, he thinks of that moment in the hallway when he should have kissed her, he thinks about his princess untangling his hair, putting order in his mind, sweeping his crowded memories, making it easy to love her)


End file.
